


Silhouette

by Dissonance



Series: Silhouette AU [1]
Category: Sam and Colby
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural Elements, The Sight, Whump, but i love it and the AU, i dont remember what i tagged on the original, it sucks.. i wrote this in 2017, paranormal experiences, sam can see ghosts, so it needs reposting, solby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:28:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissonance/pseuds/Dissonance
Summary: Sam has haunted his house and disrespected the spirits that reside there. Now, he can see paranormal entities and they seem to be focused on his slow demise.[ reposted due to accidental deletion ]Published at: 2017-10-16Completed at: 2018-01-16





	1. Friday The 13th

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TeasTakingOver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeasTakingOver/gifts).



> i accidentally fuckin deleted this whole fic. im SO happy a03 sends you a version of your fics when you delete them otherwise I would have been totally fucked, cause i did NOT make a back up version for this. 
> 
> sorry for bugging you teastakingover, but your fic was the source of my inspiration to write new silhouette AU stuff, and you're one of the big reasons i ever even wrote this garbage in the first place. so why not right?
> 
> (im rewriting paranoia after rereading the fic that was gifted to me, and meant to delete that and not fucking silhouette. i swear i almost cried when i realized i fucked up)

Imagine a world that was dark, too dark. It was that kind of darkness where you couldn't tell if your eyes were open or not, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. It was hot, too, it felt like you were being cooked alive, and it even stung when you touched your own skin. The air was thick as it ran down your throat, and it threatened to choke you. Everything smelled like sulfur and rotten eggs, but for some reason, it didn't make you feel sick.

That's the world that Sam was in.

He looked around, but it didn't feel like he was moving. Nothing changed. It was all just a wide expanse of nothingness in every single direction. Sam walked forward, his bare feet sliding across the glass-like floor easily. It was odd - the floor was frosty, the ice crystals flaking off at the slightest touch. It seemed impossible, but Sam didn't have much time to think about it. Something touched him, a burning hot hand sliding down his back. A soundless scream tore from Sam's lips, and he was forced on his hands and knees, the sizzling skin on his bare back sending waves of blinding white pain through his body. His nerves screamed, everything felt like it was on fire. The ice melted around his fingers, and suddenly, everything was water.

Sam was on his back, floating in the dark abyss of the ocean. The deep blues that surrounded him were a step up from the never ending blackness, but it was still horrible. To add to everything, instead of the air being thick, it was gone, and Sam felt the water snaking it's way into his lungs. Suffocating. He gagged, limbs thrashing wildly through the syrup-like fluid, the remains of his air exiting his body, floating up from his mouth and toward wherever the surface was. The water burned his eyes, tears flowing into it. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see. He was so light-headed, and his lungs begged for air. He felt himself cramping up, thrashing becoming much less violent. His limbs felt like they were filled with pudding.

Then, like nothing ever happened, Sam was back on the cold, icy floor. He was breathing raggedly, and felt something rushing up his throat. He leaned to the side, heaving as the salty water splashed out of his mouth, freezing on contact with the floor. He gasped for breath, chest heaving, hands shaking. His hair was sopping, and his sweatpants were soaked. He couldn't smell anything but salt, and his eyes burned like he had poured the stuff in there himself. He thought it couldn't get any worse.

Of course, it always could get worse.

After coughing up water for a solid two minutes, Sam looked up. Where he assumed he'd be met with everlasting darkness, stood a person. More specifically, a girl. A little girl. Her hair was grimy and blonde, curly and cut short at her shoulders. She had a blue bow in her hair, but that was stained too, red colored ones that turned some parts a sickly shade of purple. She had a similarly colored dress, smaller bows decorating the sleeves and hem of it. It was embroidered with white, and it stood stark against the fabric. It hung on her skeletal frame loosely. Across her stomach was a huge rip, showcasing a long, jagged cut that flowed dark mauve colored blood. It was splattered against her collarbone, a couple spots donning her sharp chin. Her face was small, petite, pale, but her eyes - oh god. One was still there. It was devoid of emotion as it stared down at Sam, the shiny blue reflecting on his own. The other one was just a hole in her head, blood dripping down her cheek in skinny rivulets.

" _Saaam._ " She wailed, unharmed eye growing wider than any eye he'd seen before. " _Saaaaaam!_ " She kept shrieking his name, voice shrill and angry. It was so loud, too loud. Sam gasped, falling on his back, hands pressed against his ears in an attempt to block out the noise, but it did nothing. The girl leaned over Sam, her figure outlined by the never ending dark behind her. She screamed and screamed and screamed, and then Sam felt something wet against his hands, but he only pressed harder. His brain felt like it would explode. His own name ricocheted off his skull, pounding and digging into his waning sanity. Her blood dripped onto his chest, and each drop felt like acid. Soon, Sam's screams joined the girl's, harmonizing together.

The girl leaned closer, Sharp tipped nails rubbing across his tear-stained cheeks. He couldn't hear, couldn't think. Her mouth was shut. Did she stop screaming? Sam couldn't tell. He was so lightheaded. It felt like he was floating.

" _Saaaaaaam._ " She whispered, dragging out his name, sending chills down Sam's already frozen back. His yowling ceased, reduced to pitiful whimpers. The girl's fingers traced down his neck, down his chest, hovering over his stomach. A smile spread across her sullen face, and she giggled, the noise oddly terrifying. She glared at her own hand, before glancing back up at Sam, who was staring with a fearful expression at her, blood leaking from his ears, lips parted slightly as he waited for her next move. She cocked her head innocently, and, not breaking eye contact, plunged her hand through Sam's chest, hand meeting with the frosted floor underneath.

He screamed.

Sam sat up, arms wrapped tightly around his intact middle. The covers fell off his chest like a second skin, and the sheets stuck to his thighs. He breathed deeply and raggedly, body violently shaking. He started to cough forcefully, something sticky spraying from his mouth, arm coming up instinctively to cover it. His head ached, and something ran down from his nose. His eyes widened as he saw the speckles decorating his arm, and he pulled himself off his bed, legs unsteady as he wobbled through his dark room. His foot hit an unlit candle, but he still continued, fingers running against the wall until they were finally met with the light switch. Sam flicked it on, and quickly studied the red spittle donning his skin before he starting coughing again. Each one shook his body powerfully, and it felt like he was hacking up a lung. He heaved in a deep breath, and found himself almost not able to. He took a step forward and was met with another candle, but this time he tripped. His face hit the carpet painfully.

Sam blinked spots out of his eyes, and then saw her. She lied next to him, and they were making eye contact. She gave him another white-toothed smile, her high-pitched giggle sounding throughout the entire room. Sam flew up like a frightened cat, sprinting toward his door with newfound energy. He threw it open, staggering forward, oblivious to the suffocating darkness his hallway supported. He found his way to the bathroom, coughing all the way, bloodied hand leaving a smudged line of red across the wall.

Inside the bathroom was cold, and Sam welcomed the feeling. He turned the light on and slammed the door. He was bent over, catching his breath when he felt it. His stomach cramped up, the feeling of knives being dug into it and twisted resonating within his entire body. Something thick and hot rose up his throat like a snake in the dirt, and he turned to the side, grasping the side of the counter. Then, he vomited, retching and gagging violently. Watery blood exited his mouth, slapping against the marble of the sink loudly. He breathed loudly, wheezing with his eyes clamped shut. Then, when he thought it might be over, the feeling returned, and Sam curled his arms around his middle, yelping loudly and falling onto his knees. More of the thick fluid poured into his mouth, and Sam struggled forward, holding onto the toilet bowl as he emptied the blood from his system.

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes. He collapsed onto his side, coughing loudly, red decorating the tiled floor. He spat, trying to get the disgusting taste of iron from his mouth. It dribbled down his chin in slow-flowing streams, scarlet stains covering his hands and chest and teeth and face and everything. He cried noisily. Between sobs and coughing, he could barely get a breath in.

The stabbing sensation returned, and Sam groaned, curling up into a tight ball, trembling vigorously. He dry-heaved as his stomach was shredded into pieces. He opened his eyes, and was once again met with the face of the little girl. She stood over him, watching him suffer with a blissful expression.

"What do you want from me?" Sam demanded, voice distraught and hysterical, pain showing clearly in his tone. He could barely see her, vision blurry and head dizzy. "What do you want? I'll give you anything, just please, make it stop!" He shouted.

She didn't respond, just kept staring with that one mirror-like blue eye. Her smile didn't waver, and she barely reacted to his words at all.

Sam shoved his face into his chest, the stabbing feeling intensifying. White-hot blinding pain overtook him and he curled tighter, muscles aching from the exertion. He was rambling, begging for his life. Begging for her to make the pain stop. Pleading to die, for it to end. Saying he was sorry for whatever he did, and that he would not continue doing it.

Someone called his name. Sam shook his head, causing the sensation to amplify tenfold, spreading throughout his body like wildfire. More bile rose up his throat, and he sputtered, dark crimson blood lazily dripping past his lips, only to pool motionlessly on the floor. Someone was talking, he could feel their hot breath on his face. Instead of the new noise being comforting, it felt like the girl was screaming again, her shrill tones driving a spike through his temple, like some twisted version of a simple headache.

The voice kept going, and Sam could barely make out the words behind the white noise. Something about staying awake, a muffled question about what happened. All the rest was incomprehensible gibberish, separate words melting like ice crystals on a glass floor and forming into singular puddles. It was all a mess, blending together. He could feel hands dripping his sides, but they seemed to burn at the touch, but he couldn't even try to wiggle out of their grasp. His hands were numb, limbs useless. He couldn't move. It felt like his body was filled with sand and sharp pins. Something dark loomed on the horizon, but Sam couldn't see it. Everything was fading away.

 

 

"I'm fine," Sam murmured, still slightly shivering as he sat at the kitchen island, slouching forward and propping himself up by the elbows. He kept his eyes angled downward, avoiding eye contact with the brunette looming over him. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to shake out the drops of dry blood that had made their way in there. He cleared his throat, the familiar tang of iron entering his mouth. He felt like gagging. "It passed, whatever it was."

Colby laughed humorlessly, shuffling on the smooth floor. He could feel his eyes tearing into him. "Sure, Sam. You're fine." Despite his sarcastic tone, Sam could make out the concern hidden underneath. He frowned.

"Really, though," He responded quickly, removing his hands from his hair. He flexed them on the counter, enjoying the feeling of.. well, feeling them. "I feel completely fine."

Colby didn't respond immediately, but Sam heard him walk a few paces away, scoffing in the process, before returning, slapping his hands loudly on the table. "How are you completely fucking _fine?_ " He demanded. "Unless this is some fucked up prank and all that was fake blood, you can't possibly be fine."

Sam inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "It wasn't fake blood," He began, going over the recent happenings in his mind, like he was watching a movie. The girl's blissful face, with the missing eye. "I don't know what happened, Colby, really. I-.." He took another deep breath, opening his eyes, still not meeting Colby's. "I broke all the rules of the Ouija board. Someone.. something... messed with me. When I was finishing up the game, I felt really light-headed and I couldn't stop coughing, I dunno why. Then, after that, I put it away and went to bed." He shuffled in his seat. "I had a dream- no, a nightmare, and there was this girl.." Her face flashed into his eyes, and he couldn't help but flinch, gritting his teeth.

"Sam-" Colby started, but was immediately cut off.

"Something's really wrong with this house," Sam whispered softly. "I think I really fucked it up for good this time. It's all real, Colby. Spirits, whatever, they frickin' exist." Sam held his head in his hands, sighing. The taste of blood was still there, and his throat still ached, but the sensation of being stabbed was gone, thank god, but something told Sam the source of the pain wasn't gone. The little girl.


	2. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's someone in the Faze Rug tunnel, and while they're fleeing, Sam just happens to fall behind.
> 
> It always happens to him, doesn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was a two-part chapter, but I've decided to combine the parts just to make reposting this easier. 
> 
> Also, sorry if some things are weird because of the lack of italics. I'm not reading these through again and the text files a03 sent me didn't have the italics (I fixed some of them in part 1 of this chapter but I have a time constraint right now and I don't think I can for the rest)

_CRASH._

Sam's spine went rigid as he whipped up, eyes wide in surprise. Colby mirrored him, and so did Elton and Corey. They stared at the part of the tunnel were the noise came from, and Sam thanked god that it wasn't the entrance side. He looked over to his friends for some sort of sign on what to do, but was met with the backs of his friends and a shout from Corey to run. Like always, Sam was already behind, barely maintaining the grip on his camera as he dodged the mucky puddles lining the bottom of the tunnel. He could barely see Colby ahead of him - his shaking flashlight didn't help - and he couldn't see the other at all. He was pretty sure Elton had started to flee right when the noise sounded, though, so he was accounted for.

Another crash sounded, and this time, it was more subtle, but louder and closer. Sam was only motivated to go faster, heart threatening to burst out of his chest from the exertion and overall terrifying situation he was in. How long is this fricking tunnel? Sam thought, head still threatening to hit the concrete ceiling if he straightened his back. He attempted to run next to the stream, jumping over a larger puddle, but failed. His shoe was compromised, filled with dirty water. He grimaced, sock making squelching noises as he continued.

A bang, this time, louder. Only a few feet away from Sam. He risked a glance behind him, but saw nothing but the never-ending shadows, not even broken by his camera's light. He was relieved. When he turned back to face the entrance, however, that relief was ripped from him immediately.

He couldn't see Colby.

Sam worked his legs harder, feeling his shoelaces come undone from the stress. His lungs begged for air, and his body begged for a break. He felt like he would collapse. The tunnel didn't feel like it was changing at all, either. The height was still the same, concrete brushing against his hair, and Sam swore that he was seeing the same graffiti repeated over and over, the same 666 written in red spray paint. The same "Ryan was here", the same badly drawn cat, the same puddles and the same satanic symbols etched into the wall-

Sam's wet, untied shoe slipped off. His sock slid across the smooth cement, and he flipped in the air, face smashing directly into the disgusting water lining the bottom of the tunnel. He saw stars, and felt blood flow into his mouth from biting his cheek. Someone had flipped on his off switch, and he just lied there, chest heaving, hands shaking, eye clenched shut as he tried not to smell or taste the liquid underneath him.

Sam breathed slowly, hand running against the algae-lined stone for a hold to stand up, but something made him stop. Footsteps. Not footsteps that you'd expect, no. Not his friends. The person wasn't avoiding the water like they had been, they were walking through it. The wet dragging slap each movement made wasn't the thing that disturbed Sam, no. Whoever it was was coming from the deeper end of the tunnel.

Sam attempted to leap off the ground, but was roughly struck down by a large boot, pressing hard in the small of his back. He let out an embarrassing little oof, air behind pushed out of his lungs roughly. The shoe dug into his spine, pushing harder and harder until Sam couldn't breath at all. He squirmed, but like a cockroach under a shoe, he couldn't get free or reach behind him to touch the person. When he tried to speak, only a pitiful squeak excited his mouth, similar to the puff of air. The boot pushed harder, and Sam felt something crack.

Then, like nothing happened at all, the boot lifted. Sam heaved in a large breath of that delicious thing you call oxygen, in and out and in an out. He had totally forgotten about what caused the hardship, and did not move from the ground before the same boot, now recognizable as steel-toed, slammed into Sam's side. Sam slammed into the side of the tunnel from the impact, letting out another one of those stupid oofs that his body was hell-bent on making. He looked up for his attacker, blue eyes meeting a semi-transparent... boy.

He looked about fifteen. He had greasy swooped dull brown hair and similar eyes. His skin was tan, and his clothes were simple, a gray t-shirt and black jeans. He wore large, thick boots, and Sam could see the glint of the exposed steel in the toes. His right pant-leg was ripped all the way up to his waist, crimson staining the fabric subtly. Everything was incredibly sopping, too, but the water dropping from his clothing never made a mark on the ground.

The boy gave him an odd look, but not a hostile one. More of some kind of curiosity. His eyes were wide, but not piercing. They were soft, reminding him of Colby's. He cocked his head to the side, but stood motionless, expression blank, taking a toward Sam. Then, he disappeared. Really, I'm not kidding. Poof, like magic. He was there, and then Sam blinked, and he was gone.

_The heck?_

A few seconds after that, he pushed himself off the ground, cringing at the sound of droplets dripping off of his now soaked front. His nose hurt from falling, and now that he wasn't lying face-first in probable sewage, he could smell the blood that ran slowly out of his nostril, felt it falling past his lips. It didn't feel broken, though. However, there would probably be a nasty bruise there later. His chest felt wrong and it kind of hurt to breathe, but the pain wasn't prominent enough to warrant a doctor's trip. His side was oddly squishy and hurt to touch or brush. He wasn't super hurt, he knew. There would just be some colorful bruises.

He shook his head. Why wasn't he shocked? He knew he should've been some subsection of surprised, but honestly, he wasn't. After waking up, getting mind-stabbed in the stomach and puking blood for - what Colby had told him - thirty minutes, he felt okay. It was an odd sensation, to feel okay but have a bruising side, messed up nose, and a fractured rib. It felt incredibly normal. He smacked his lips, accepting this new reality.

So, with those thoughts running through his mind, Sam started stumbling down the tunnel. He didn't feel scared, so that was also weird. The graffiti and size of the tunnel was changing too, thank god, and before he knew it, Sam was at the entrance.

It was.. it was day. Hmm. Interesting.

Sam cleared his throat, reaching up to wipe the blood from his upper lip. It smeared across his hand. "Colby, Corey? Elton?" He called, voice nonchalant. He jumped out of that concrete dungeon, grass crunching and sock squelching. He straightened his posture, putting his hands on his hips, nerves telling him not to jostle that much. He found himself smirking, for no reason really. It was spontaneous. A spontaneous grin. Something was fluttering in Sam's chest, and no, it wasn't his heart giving out. Something incredibly extraordinary was there, sitting, shining. He felt wonderful. He felt different.

No familiar face stepped out from behind a tree, no voice responding to his question. Everything looked the same from the night, half-crushed shopping cart sitting in the muck, rotten tree lying beside it. Nothing was different, and no-one was there. His spontaneous grin disappeared in a flash, replaced by a straight line, but not a frown. He just couldn't muster up the emotions to be able to frown. Hmm.

"Gone." A dull, terribly sorrowful voice echoed from behind Sam. He whipped around, heart jumping a bit, before it calmed at the sight of the halfway transparent boy standing at the mouth of the tunnel. Yeah, that's right. It calmed at the sight of a ghost. Crazy, huh?

Sam's lips parted, but he found himself wordless. He glanced around, eyes raking the trees before he turned back to the boy, who had not moved a milimeter in any way. "Um, where?" He asked, slightly sarcastic. He was talking to a ghost, a semi-friendly one. Oh man, was he excited. Super duper excited.

The boy's head cocked to the side again, and he blinked. The tip of his steel-toed boots shifted just a centimeter to the right. "Gone." He stated again, voice like chocolate pudding. It drifted through the air thickly. He raised his arm, slowly, like he was moving in water. Pointing the direction of their car.

"Yes, smart. I should've thought of that." He said, mostly to himself, nodding to the figure who was staring at him with interest. "Well, see you probably never, pal. Thanks for beating me up." Sam winked, his smile returned to his face, waving to the boy before turning away.

\--

Sam got into the car without a second thought.

Where was everyone? He lied sprawled out along the back seats, using Colby's Colby-scented jacket as a pillow. It was a good question, though. Why was the car still there if the others had left? Sam didn't even know what time it was, so he had no good way of guessing what'd happen. His best assumption was that they were looking for him, but if they were, why hadn't he seen them when he was exiting the tunnel?

A lot of things didn't make sense, but Sam didn't really care. His body hurt slightly and his whole front was soaked in dirty water, but he was laying in a warm car with soft cushions, face pressed into a jacket that smelled like card stock, apples, and pine sap. He was doing great.

Sam's eyelids grew heavy after a while of lying in silence, and he found himself softly dozing off. He welcomed it, letting his eyes close naturally as his limbs relaxed. He was almost fully unconscious when the loud, popping sound of a door opening rang throughout the car. Sam's eyes shot open, and, to be frank, his body was not relaxed anymore.

Colby hopped into the front seat, Corey in the passenger. "He's not here." Corey was saying. "We went as far in as we could, Colby, we didn't see him, hear him-"

One of the back doors opened, and there stood Elton, staring at Sam's feet, eyes as wide as dinner plates. "Holy shit." He breathed, taking a hand off the door. "Sam."

Sam sat up, pushing Colby's jacket off the seat subtly. "Elton." Sam responded, wiping at his nose again, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Howdy." He nodded politely, pulling his legs closer to him so that his friend could sit. Colby and Corey were staring at him, and Sam felt himself wilt a little under the pressure, but that glowing light in his chest still shone bright.

"Dude." Colby was the first to speak. "What the fuck happened to you."

Sam gave him a white-toothed smile, cocking his head like the boy did before. "Oh, this?" He started, gesturing to the already bruising bridge of his nose. "I tripped, got my face slammed on the ground. Blacked out. Ya' know, the usual." His grin widened unnecessarily.

"Your shoe is missing." Elton commented unhelpfully. "And where's your camera?"

Fuck. Sam _had_ forgotten his camera. It was probably busted, lying alone in the dirty dead rabbit water. That was a good few hundred dollars down the drain. "It fell off, 'cause it was untied." Sam responded quickly. "And.. I think I forgot it. I did fall unconscious in a supposedly haunted tunnel, so when I awoke I wasn't really thinking about my camera."

Nobody spoke for a moment. A long, palpable pause. The silence was thick and suffocating.

"You've been gone for seven hours."

Yeah. That seemed about right. He fell over, hit his head, met a much friendlier ghost-boy who proceed to squash and kick him, and then walked admittedly very slowly out of the tunnel. I mean, it didn't seem about right, but with the things Sam had seen and been through, he didn't have the right to doubt it.

 

 

Everyone had forgotten about the incident in the tunnel quick. Colby got a good clickbait-esque thumbnail and people were saying it was fake, but no one was really paying attention. Colby sent worried glances in his direction sometimes, those stormy blues tracing the colorful purple bruise sitting across his face. They all thought he had just hurt his nose, and Sam was fine with that, but it just made it harder to conceal how bad his torso fricking hurt.

After they left, they checked him for a concussion, which he happened to have. Then, they let him sleep, and literally, everything was back to normal. I'm not kidding. He'd seen Colby and Aaron vlogging in the morning with the grins to rival Sam's own, and the others were off filming more videos for their channels. Sam had to get filming, too, since he lost his super expensive camera with all the footage from the tunnel. So, Sam made a quick video with his phone - yes, his phone - saying that he was taking a three day break. He played with Buddy a bit just to make the video more watchable. He just had to catch up, you know? He didn't acknowledge the bruise draped gorily over his nose, or say why he was moving stiffly and couldn't bend over without wincing. He was one hundred percent sure he'd get lots of comments on that, but it didn't matter. More comments were more views, right? Right?

After the first day of just resting and putting ice on his face - Colby's idea - a semi-large drama-channel had already posted something about him. It was titled _Sam Golbach attacked in the Faze Rug tunnel? COVERUP!_ Sam regretted posting that update video right as he saw the thumbnail. There was a picture of his face, that muddy purple bruise, and then screenshot of a moment in his newest video. He had set the camera on a decorative table, so it showed him sitting in front of the glass door with Buddy. He was bent over in an awkward position, petting the small puppy with the most pained look on his face, hand hovering over his side. It was literally a small moment in the video when the position he was in made his body ache. Why did people have to be so observant? And, of course,, there was large yellow text along the bottom, restating the title. After watching the video and all it's proof and points, Sam hadn't slept very well. They were right about his hidden injuries, so he sorta felt guilty.

He woke up to a crap ton of notifications for all his social media. He pulled up, rubbing his eyes, ears ringing at the loud annoying buzzing. He didn't even remember when he turned his notification alarm back on, but he wasn't really worried about that right now. He grabbed his phone, fumbling with it for a second before inputting his password. The screen came to life, and he first went on his instagram - which he was taking a small break from too - and went to his dms. They were filled with messages, and Sam clicked one at random, sleepy eyes barely able to make out the words.

Sam frowned, shutting off his phone after reading just three of those direct messages. He could just tell that they would all be worried words of false inspiration. He looked at his most recent pictures, clicking the comment section button and reading a few. He saw more of the same stuff, Are you okay?s and What happened at the tunnel?s. He tossed his phone onto the bed, standing up slowly and unsteadily, mentally exhausted from that. He appreciated the concern, but there was just too much. Sam sighed, stumbling over to the mirror placed by his closet. He yawned, stretching before he looked down at himself. The bright purple and red bruise spread across his chest from his rib, almost merging with the even larger one covering his side. Speaking of his side, it was inflamed, the medium sized cut crimson around the edges and probably infected or something. Sam's frown only grew as he straightened his posture, the skin pulling painfully around the wound. It hurt to touch, and was still felt weird and squishy and too warm.

He cursed under his breath. He had probably underestimated the damage.

Sam bent down, feeling his muscles tense as he agitated his injuries. He swiped a plain black and gray t-shirt from the ground as quick as he could, pulling it over his head. While he was blinded by the fabric, however, he heard his door fly open.

Sam stopped breathing, it catching in his throat. He quickly yanked the rest of his shirt over his thin body, straightening it as stared at Colby's brown haired head. The scent of card stock and apples and pine sap rushed over him, and he found his cheeks reddening. He'd probably gotten messages, too. Probably watched the stupid drama channel video. And unfortunately, Sam was right. Colby was staring down at where his swollen wound had been, stormy eyes crackling with lightning, emotions mixing dangerously in the blue irises.

Oh dear.

\--

Sam lied on his bed, shirtless with legs danging off the edge. His eyes were closed tightly as Colby's skinny fingers ran lightly across his skin, feeling like they were burning the skin as they touched. Sam winced as he went over some of the more sensitive portions, where the bruises lumped together to form painful purple-gray clouds. In that incredibly intimate moment, they were mostly silent, even as Sam felt Colby traced up his middle to poke and prod at his chest, gentle as can be, letting up whenever Sam flinched. Sam wanted to look at his friend, see his face and study it's features, but he didn't. He couldn't. They were silent as Colby lied right down next to him, separated by a good twelve inches but still very close, sighing and putting his hands behind his head.

"So," Colby murmured, breaking the silence, voice deep and very Colby-like. "Someone attacked you in the tunnel. And you don't know who that someone is." He sounded like he didn't believe anything Sam was saying. He didn't blame him.

Sam opened his eyes, studying his ceiling. "Yep," He responded bluntly, mirroring Colby's position. "There was a boot. That's all I know." He felt bad lying straight out to his best friend, but he had to. After all, Colby probably thought he was insane after the whole thing with the little girl ghost who lived in his room. He shifted, letting out a small noise similar to that terrible embarrassing oof. He stilled after that, clenching and unclenching his knuckles next to his side.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Colby nodding to himself. "Okay. And why didn't you tell me?" He asked, on the verge of incredulously. He felt him sneakily shuffle just a few inches closer, and Sam's skin started to itch.

"Cause," Sam started slowly, voice quiet and soft. He was being truthful, now. "I didn't want you to worry. I was fine." He might've been fine then, but he wasn't fine now. Everything ached. Sam was sure he had a fever of some sort, and his cheeks were strangely hot.

A frustrated noise from Colby. Sam stiffened. "It worries me more when you don't tell me," He forced out, voice surprisingly calm for how insufferable Sam was being. "You gotta- you _have_ to tell me things, Sam. We've been best friends since middle school. Even though it sounds super cheesy, we're supposed to tell each other everything. You know that."

Sam took in a deep breath, twinges of discomfort radiating from you know where at the movement. "Oh. Sorry," He murmured. "I'll, um. Tell you things. Everything, if I ever get, um.. hurt again, I guess." Another sharp inhale.

"Not only if you get hurt," Colby responded immediately. "Everything important. Like, if you get a girlfriend, or a pet. That's.. _important_." He laughed slightly at his own stupid sentence.

Sam nodded. He felt utterly terrible not sharing his wonderful secret with his wonderful friend, but it had to be done. For that weird water logged steel-toe ghost boy. Even the scary as all hell little girl who almost killed him. They didn't deserve to be outed, and Sam felt that their would be some sort of consequence if he told anyone, but maybe that was just him being anxious. He forced out the smallest laugh, trying to feign amusement. He did a shitty job at it. "Yeah," He whispered, fake smile fading off his face. "Important."


	3. Falling Is Like Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...there's just a more permanent destination.
> 
> Part Two Summary: Don't make this a habit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, a two parter combined into one. sorry for lack of italics.

The air smelled wonderful, blowing around Sam's hair. He couldn't see very well, but the things he could see were magnificent. Small, sand colored birds flying through the dark sky, letting their bottoms skim the water as if they were hot and wanted a little refresher. The water itself was white-capped, small but large nonetheless waves crashing against the sharp rocks. Even from up on the cliff's edge, Sam swore he could feel the cool salty ocean mist. He edged closer, little pebbles barely touching his shoes and falling off. He was curious, and wanted to get a good shot for a thumbnail. He flinched back an inch as another wave crashed, a bigger one, blue eyes wide in interest as he aimed his camera over the side.

"That's so cool." He murmured to the camera, trying to shine his light down to see more of it. "It would suck to fall though, so I'm going to step away." He told his viewers, lowering the camera and retreated to a safer part of the outcrop. Even at his small movement, pebbles were sent spiraling into the navy blue depths. He grimaced, watching as they tumbled over the edge. It was slightly frightening, but worth it to see such a sight.

Sam was about to get closer again when he heard Aaron's call. "Sam? Come on, we're going." He shouted from across the expanse. Sam nodded, intending to get one last look when something placed a hand on his shoulder. He assumed it was one of his roommates, and he tried to shake the hand off, muttering a 'I'm coming, I'm coming', but it didn't come off. Their grip tightened, and Sam found the person's absurdly long fingernails digging roughly into his skin through the fabric of his t-shirt. He tried to turn around to see who was grabbing him, but the motion was halted by another hand grasping his shoulder in an iron grip. He couldn't move his feet, couldn't pivot or let his knees buckle. Anything to get loose. He struggled, feet glued to the rocky ground, shoulders shaking wildly in an attempt to get free.

"HEY, GUYS?" Sam shouted, voice slightly cracking in the middle. He gritted his teeth, pulling, trying to look behind him, see who was there. He was hot, and he felt sweat dripping down his back. The beginnings of a headache started to build up in his skull, and his stomach started to ache. The thing's hands started to burn against Sam's skin, too. Fright ran through him, and any previous thoughts that it might've been one of the guys 'pranking' him vanished. He couldn't believe he was such of a skeptic before - now it was terribly apparent that there was something behind him, not someone, and that they were of the ghostly variety. He wanted to laugh at himself for realizing that the burning touch and rising temperature were signs of a malevolent spirit.

"Sam? Sam!" Came Colby's voice, loud and worried, and then the noise of sand being pushed around as he probably ran toward him. Sam probably looked like he was seizing, shaking so violently, trying to get out of the burning grip of the spirit. He assumed they couldn't see it. Sam was sure he could, because he had caught glimpses of it's moldy, long-nailed hand. Just didn't process it. And, he'd seen all the others, so yeah. Don't doubt me.

Like a bomb went off in his head, the pain in his skull grew tenfold. He gasped, eyes clenched shut. The spirit ushered him forward, closer and closer to the probable death-drop of sharp rocks and crashing waves. He stared down at it. He really couldn't move now. It felt like his arms were glued to his sides, legs bolted to the ground. He stopped thrashing. Most of it was the spirit's doing, but Sam knew that some of it had to be genuine fear. He really didn't like heights.

"Sam!" He'd forgotten about Colby momentarily, and he tried to move his head to see him, but he couldn't. "Sam, what're you doing?" More shuffling of the loose pebbles.

Sam took in a deep breath. "Oh god." He murmured, swallowing uncertainly. His mind was going into that hysterical stage of whatever was going on. He couldn't voice much but incomprehensible murmurs. The hands tightened impossibly, the burning sensation amplifying. He flinched, almost collapsing forward, but was caught by the ghost. Ghost.. sounded so dumb. "Get it off me. Get it off me, Colby." He muttered, eyes staring at the waves slamming against the cliff side. He was pushed forward slightly, and his heart leaped into his throat. He thought he was going to fall. The hands loosened their grip, but something - no, someone grasped his arm, his hand. He was being dangled.

"What the hell?" Colby said audibly as he yanked on Sam's arm, trying to pull him away from the edge. He didn't move, though, barely even budged an inch. Colby's touch was much cooler. Not terribly cold, but just that soothing coolness. "Sam, come on. What the fuck are you doing?"

"I really don't know what's going on." Sam answered bluntly. "There's some crazy fucking person pushing me toward the pit of death, and you're trying to get my away from it. I gotta say I enjoy your choices better than that.. spirit. Or whatever." Sarcastic oozed from his voice. "You can't see it, though, can you?"

A choked noise from Colby.

"No, you can't. Jesus, I really regret doing all those stupid videos." Blood dripped from Sam's nose, another nosebleed. The spirit loosened it's grip, and Sam lurched forward another inch. A yelp tore from his throat. "Wow. This so surreal, staring at what I assume would be certain death." The water churned underneath Sam, the tips of jagged stones sending visions of, yes, you guessed it, certain death into his head.

Colby's grip only tightened.

The creature, spirit, ghost, spooky entity or whatever the heck it was let go. Sam fell forward, knees bucking. Colby was dragged along the surface, and he could hear his other roommates rushing toward the two.

Sam was going to take Colby with him.

In a split second decision, Sam slammed his own arm into the ground, along with Colby's. The sound of cracking bone, probably from Sam and Colby's fingers judging by the wave of excruciating pain, echoed through the air as Sam tumbled over the edge.

The way down was slow. Sam's eyes were wide as he watched Colby stare at him, holding his wounded hand and shouting something Sam couldn't hear over the wind. Over his shoulder stood a woman, probably somewhere in her twenties, with moldy, greenish skin and a ratty white dress. Her black hair was stringy and was missing in some places. She literally looked like the more sinister version of the Corpse Bride. And, to make it all worse, She had her hand on Colby's shoulder, as if she were teasing Sam that he would fall too.

Sam didn't want that, so he locked eyes with hers, send her an pleading, firm glare as her figure became smaller and smaller. Sam could feel the mist of the water splashing up and wetting his back. He could imagine being impaled, and it was something he never ever wanted to think about again, something long and sharp jutting through his chest like he wasn't a human being. Human beings didn't deserve to be impaled, at least most of them. Some of them were assholes that definitely did deserve to have a sharp, long rock pushed through their stomachs, hanging there in agony as they bled to death. Some of them did.

That was Sam's last thought as he collided with the water, the force of it all sending a wave of white-hot pain throughout him before everything went black.

 

 

Sopping wet. Shoes missing, socks mushy and gross. Seaweed, dirt, and a whole lot of other things stuck all over his body in places he probably didn't want them. He was curled up on his side, barely conscious, chest heaving as he coughed up the salty water she had become accustomed to. His clothing was torn, and in some of the rips blood flowed out lazily.

She walked forward, jeans too long for her legs dragging in the sand. She noted that he looked a lot like her after she was pushed, save for actually being alive. His skin wasn't as pale yet, and he was free from the greenish stain of ocean water and mold. He smelled terrible, however, like rotten fish and an overabundance of salt placed right under your nose. She probably didn't have the right to say anything, however, since she most likely smelled just as bad, if not worse. Decomposing bodies did tend to smell horrible.

Standing over his body, she looked up, scanning the cliffside for the other. There, a long ways away and almost out of sight, stood a figure. She recognized it as the same woman who killed her. Another one had succumbed to the Woman's fatal shove.

She stared down at the man. He had short blonde hair plastered to his face, and from what she could make out, pretty blue eyes. He was a bit on the skinny side, and had relatively gangly limbs. He looked to be in a lot of pain, and as she had observed before, he was one step away from drowning in his own lungs. He coughed weakly, water dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. Not enough, though. She remembered the feeling, not being able to breathe, feeling all that water welling up inside her lungs. It wasn't pleasant. Empathy filled her, and if she had a working heart, she was sure it would become overwhelmed with pity. This was the only one she had found alive- all the rest that had washed up on shore had already perished.

She knelt next to the man, reached out a hand, running it along his shivering side, back and forth. "It'll be over soon." She murmured soothingly, wishing she could do something to end his suffering. Then, suddenly, he let out a rushed breath, another gulp of water rushing out of his mouth. She looked down, and saw that his eyes were wide and frantic now. His chest heaved powerfully as he forced the rest of the water out of his lungs.

She stood, stepping back. His pastel blue eyes were staring at her. Not like everyone who walked along the beach, staring through her, he was seeing her. Seeing her. Her own wide eyes met his, confusion littering both of their expressions. If she had anything to breathe, she'd be breathless - he could see her!

The man closed his eyes shut for a good couple minutes, getting his lungs to work. She frowned at him, before he opened his eyes, collapsing onto his back. He breathed, eyes wide.

"Are you the same one?" Came from his mouth, hoarse and dry from the inhale of salt water. "God, you fucking ghosts and your sour-then-sweet attitudes. This isn't a fucking Sour Patch Kids commercial, calm down." His tone.. he was mocking her. He could see her, and he was mocking her? "I can't believe I'm alive. What is this, the third time in a month? Just kill me already, god." Despite his grim words, he sounded quite sarcastic.

"The Woman-" She replied quickly and softly, glancing up at where the silhouette was, still watching her and the man. "She pushed you, not me. Well, she pushed me too, but that was awhile ago. At least I think. Did you know people think I committed suicide?" She scoffed, crossing her arms. "I didn't, just so you know. I was a little depressed though at the time, so I see why they came to that conclusion." She couldn't stop her rambling - it was something she gained when she died. Her signature ghosty thing. However, to most people, it just sounded like incomprehensible whispering.

Not this man, though, as he seemed to process her every word perfectly. He turned his head to look at her, still breathing heavily like he had ran a mile. His cheeks and nose were red, probably from the cold. He was paying attention. It still baffled her how he could see her. "Oh." He responded uselessly turning his head away from her. "Well. Sorry."

She pursed her lips, voicing the question that had been swimming in her head. "Um. How can you see me? Like, most people who walk past, day, night, evening, whatever, like, don't see me. They kinda stare past me. But no, you can hear me, see me, and you're responding to me. It's not normal." She clicked her tongue. "So. How?"

The man sighed. "I don't know, Mrs. Paranormal Entity. It just happened because I played a bunch of bullshit games that gave me lots of likes and subscribers, and look at me now. I can see you assholes, and where's it gotten me? Soaked and bleeding on the shore of who knows where." He propped himself up by his elbows, pushing himself off the ground with a pained grunt. He stumbled onto his shoe-less feet, socks coated in coarse sand. He coughed, the last bit of greenish water dripping out of his mouth and onto the ground. He wiped his lips, taking in a deep gulping breath. Then, he turned to her, eyes very agitated. "You know what? Fuck you. Fuck all this. This is fucking stupid." He started unsteadily making his way toward the city lights in the distance, making small noises from jostling his worn body. She watched him go, until he was just a silhouette in the distance, like the Woman.

She wished him a good life. After all, you shouldn't take life for granted. 

 

 

Sam was shivering. He walked along the side of the bridge, a trail of water winding behind him. His throat ached like he'd swallowed nails, and the puncture wound in his side had been steadily leaking blood since he stood up. It wasn't the worst shape he'd been in, but it was still pretty bad, compared to how he usually was before all that stupid supernatural shit started. To add to it all, he was walking with a limp, because his leg was filled with pins and needles and the feeling wouldn't go away. Whenever he put weight on it, it felt like he'd break his entire limb, snapping at the knee. He also stank, super bad. Like rotten fish and wet dog. It wasn't pleasant.

In the distance, Sam spotted the car. It was empty, of course, his friends weren't jerks. They wouldn't just leave. Would you leave if your friend was pushed off a cliff? No, you wouldn't. So shush.

Sam cringed at the audible squishing noises his socks were making. It painfully reminded him of the tunnel, the whole situation. Limping back to the car, roommates nowhere to be seen, him wounded in some way. He'd seen a ghost, and now he was walking, leaving wet footprints behind him from his squelching socks. He wondered briefly if this was going to be how his life went now - constantly hurt, not having time to edit videos, limping back to cars with gross wet socks and blood running down his side.

"This is stupid." Sam murmured to himself, very close to the car now. He wet, dripping hair was slightly obscuring his vision, but he could still see it. "I don't deserve this. What have I ever done to deserve this?" He reached it, running a hand along the smooth side until he reached the door handle. He pulled it, cursing vulgarly under his breath when it didn't open. "I must've done something pretty bad, then." He sighed, hitting the car in frustration. Then, he walked over to the front of the parking space.

"HEY, GUYS?" He screamed, pushing his battered voice to the limit. He waved his unharmed arm wildly in the air, trying to get their attention. He moaned impatiently, rolling his eyes at no response. He just wanted to go home and sleep. No, not just that.. Something important rushed into his chest, a warm and fuzzy feeling. He just wanted to see Colby, make sure he was okay, then sleep. He stared blankly into the distance, visions swarming into his head. Bad ones. Not like the bad you'd think, nothing gross, but still. Bad. The warm feeling disappeared as he put an end to those thoughts, leaving a cold sensation settling into his heart.

Colby was his best friend. Nothing else.

"Sam?" Someone's voice, a feminine one, echoed from behind him. He turned around, slowly, feeling the need to rip off his socks at that horrible, gut-wrenching sound they made, and the disgusting feel of the wet cotton against his skin.

There, in front of him, stood three people - two teenage girls and a boy - with flashlights. Large flashlights. The boy had a gray backpack on, and it looked to be filled to the brim. He was dressed like most teenage boys in 2017 - blue jeans and a plain t-shirt, if you were curious - and the girls were wearing matching warm fall outfits. Now that he looked at them, he realized they looked almost exactly the same, but with different hair colors. Hmm. Twins then. In the twins' open hands were cellphones, their little flashlights on as well, a blinking light indicating they were recording. Sam resisted the urge to frown. He really didn't want to be filmed when he was wearing squelching socks and looked like he took a shower in a swamp.

"Uh. Hi." He answered, voice small. He gave them a small wave in greetings, arching it just a bit before returning his hand to his side. He surveyed them again, eyes tracing their frames. "Um, who are you?" He inquired, blinking confusedly at them all. Each one of the wore grins, and they were aiming their phone cameras and flashlights at his face. He narrowed his eyes, spots appearing in his vision. Irritation built up in his chest. He wanted to swat the phones right out of their hands, knock those dumb grins off their faces, but he held the feeling back.

As if God was finally listening to him, the smiles vanished, replaced by concerned grimaces. "Colby sent out a tweet-" The brunette twin started, but was cut off by her ginger-haired sister. "He said you fell into the ocean at Sunken City. He requested people nearby come and form a Search Party." They talked smoothly and softly, like they were explaining things to a toddler. Or an idol, someone they looked up to? He couldn't properly discern the two tones, his brain hurt too much and his body begged for sleep.

Colby would've sent out a tweet. It probably wasn't just that - stuff on Instagram, snapchat, all the other social medias they owned. The cozy feeling returned to his chest, and his cheeks reddened. He cleared his throat, trying to mentally make himself stop blushing. "Well, that's good, but he didn't need to do that." At the incredulous looks the band of teenage misfits gave him, he continued. "I'm fine."

The guy's eyes centered in on his side, where the wound was still steadily leaking watery crimson. He looked genuinely worried. "But, Sam, you're bleeding." His hazel eyes went to Sam's arm, now, and he could see the gears turning in stereotypical teenage boy's head. "And.. you're holding your arm weird."

Sam bit his lip. He wanted to scream. He didn't want to look bad on camera, but boy was it tempting. "I'm fine." He repeated sternly, readjusting his position to hide the injury. He tried to straighten his arm, letting out a small wince. He motioned with his good arm toward one of the twins' phones. "Could you please tell Colby that I'm alive, and where I am?" He put on the most fake smile he could possibly muster.

The girl - twin #2, brunette - did just that. The small, annoyingly bright light flicked off as she tapped furiously on her keyboard. Sam and the other two stood there terribly awkwardly as the girl typed and typed and typed. Geez. How many characters did she have on Twitter?

Finally, she spoke up. "I told everyone." She informed him, flipping her screen over to show the several retweets. Sam blanked. No, you don't understand - this girl told everyone. Forwarded the video she took, too. Sam cringed, so many emojis, so many exclamation marks. Too many, an unhealthy amount.

"Okay then. Thank you, but I think I'm fine now. You can go." Sam was trying to be polite, sliding down next to the car, sitting by it's front tire. He wouldn't meet their eyes, feeling his eyelids grow heavier. "Really, I'm very appreciative of what you've done, but I'm good now." He leaned forward, holding his face with his hand. He felt the darkness sitting at the edge of his consciousness, ready to take him. Why was he so tired?

"Okay." One of them responded. Sam couldn't tell, but he heard them scampering away, the scuffling of their converse against the pavement. It was the last thing he heard before he slumped forward, eyes closing, feeling overwhelming bliss as sleep finally led him away.

\--

Sam woke up in his bed.

It was warm, a comforting temperature compared to all times before. Not too cold, not too hot - indicating he was alone, ghost-free. No spirits around to mess with him. It was a calming revelation, to say the least, that no one would be watching him sleep.

Dread started to build up in Sam's chest, and he opened his eyes, searching his room for anybody else, just in case. Of course, nothing could go right for Sam, and he immediately saw how his door was cracked, and how an eye was staring through at him threateningly. Then, it shut abruptly. The girl. It had to have been the girl.

Sam threw off the blanket, a feeling of irritation rising up into his throat like bile. He took into account that he was fully clothed in clean stuff, before marching toward the door. He stood a few feet away from it, flexing his knuckles as he stared the white wood down.

"Hey, you," Sam started, his voice low and pissed. "Leave me the hell alone. I'm done with your-... your bullshit. I'll stop doing those games, heck, I'll even delete my entire channel if you just leave me alone. I don't know what your problem is, but just tell me, and I'll fucking stop." His blood boiled, and he contemplated punching his door for a good couple seconds, but ultimately decided not to.

No response. Sam laughed, hysterical and distraught, walking slowly back toward his bed. "Fine. Have it your way," He seethed, fists clenched. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."


	4. Hold On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cold and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my i read the last little bit of this and.. my boys... my poor boys...
> 
> also i combined two chapters into this one! :)

Everything was so dark. It was almost impossible to see through the heavy overcast of gloom, but Sam managed, sharp eyes making out the graffiti covered walls with ease. He maneuvered past knocked over chairs, kicking a water bottle to the side when it stood in his way. He stood still for a moment, waiting for the clittering noise of the plastic to cease. When it did, Sam continued, bent over slightly, waiting for something to jump out from the shadows.

A large gust of frigid wind ran through the building, sending flakes of snow drifting through the cold air. He repositioned his warm black coat, hugging it tighter around his small, shivering frame. He hurriedly reached up, gloved hands fumbling with the zipper before pulling it up to his chin.

Okay, yeah. It was pretty chilly, Sam could admit. He probably should've brought something other than jeans, a poor excuse for a winter jacket, tennis shoes, and thin gloves. It's not like he had been expecting a blizzard, or icy roads, or jaw-droppingly low temperatures. It was November 1st - not late December. It shouldn't have been that cold, they didn't plan for it to be that cold.

They also didn't plan for Sam to veer off the road while driving back to their hotel, crash down into the forest, and almost get impaled by a branch sticking through his windshield. They didn't plan for him to get lost in the never ending trees, running through them in a futile search for the sound of cars in a soundless environment.

Yep, he was definitely in trouble.

Sitting down against the cold concrete wall, Sam reached into his pocket, fingers meeting the freezing metal of his phone. He typed in his passcode and found it glitching, slow because of the temperature. Another thing to add to Sam’s horrible day.

He went on contacts, clicking on Colby’s name and pressing call. Then, before it even rung once, a notifications popped up - the call wouldn’t go through, there was no signal. Sam groaned audibly, hitting his head against the wall in frustration. He lifted the phone up toward the ceiling, hoping that would give him even just one meager bar, but nothing happened. He slammed his head against the concrete once more. Just his luck. Nothing ever went his way, ever.

“Just kill me already,” Sam murmured sarcastically to himself, pushing down a shiver. Right when the words passed his lips did he realize it was a bad thing to say in his situation, and that he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. Ever since he realized he had the Sight - that’s what he started calling his ability to see spirits - whatever controlled fate seemed to take everything he said or thought literally, no matter his tone or intention. So, he wet his lips, wide pastel blue orbs scanning the surrounding room for something that would be sent to kill him already.

When Sam’s eyes met just graffiti on walls, he leaned back, setting his phone on his lap. He took in a deep, refreshing breath, the cold oxygen heavenly. He closed his eyes, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, waiting for the motivation to get up and attempt to find the road again, get to a place with good reception and call Colby.

Sam felt himself smile, thinking of Colby.

It was hard to deny the feelings he felt when thinking about Colby - the fuzzy, cozy fondness that coursed through him at the slightest mention. Even in the cold, Sam could feel his cheeks heating up, face reddening as he fantasized about brushing hands, tight comforting hugs, the smile that rested on his blue-eyed face after they ran from security in abandoned places. It was crazy how it all just manifested, made him nauseous and lightheaded. No matter how good it felt to daydream about his best friend, he couldn’t. That was it - Colby was his best friend. That was the problem. It was just a bad idea to date your best friend, the relationships never ended well, and then there was the whole same gender problem. And to be honest, Colby didn’t look at him like Sam did. There was no way in hell that he felt the same, it just wasn’t possible.

The feeling dissipated, a dull melancholy sensation settling in his chest. Whatever. He’d deal with that emotional baggage later, right now he had to not freeze to death.

Sam sighed, opening his eyes, gaze meeting the dimly lit dark of the abandoned building. He flexed his numb fingers, fingers grasping his phone. The metal felt like dry ice against his skin, warm by comparison. He sucked in a breath, hissing at the feeling before tucking the device into his pants pocket. He stood, wet sneakers squeaking against the concrete ground as he made his way back toward the exit.

The sight of a darkening sky made Sam’s heart sink. He couldn’t have spent that much time in that building - it was only four pm when he got in the crash, why were there stars already out?

Sam narrowed stepping forward into the snow. It was coming down hard, caking onto his shoulders and littering his hair. He blinked the large flakes out of his eyelashes, trudging through the good foot of it. Soon, his ankles were freezing, the ice snaking up his pant legs and biting at his flesh.

“Jesus.” Sam muttered under his breath, annoyance evident in his tone. He kept going, trying to pick up the pace, but it was hard when his legs felt like they were burning and everything else felt like it would fall off. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the icy block that he called his phone. It was already eight. Great. He typed in the password, but the melting snowflakes on his screen put in a bunch of extra numbers. It took a good six tries and one lock out to get into his phone, and now he had his hood up, attempting to hide in the device from the storm.

“You’re fucking kidding me..” Sam hissed incredulously at the dreadful sight of zero bars. He groaned in irritation, resisting the urge to chuck the phone at a tree. He rushed forward, now in a jog, holding the device up into the air.

“Saaam.” A loud and shrill voice rang out into the night, and Sam froze, knuckles white. His heart leaped into his throat, and his blue eyes widened. He slowly lowered his hand to his side, slipping his phone back into his pocket subtly.

“Saaaaaaam.” The voice continued, closer now, whistling out his name in a haunting tone. He didn’t know where it was coming from, couldn’t detect the direction. It seemed to sing out from everywhere, radiating straight from the darkness in between the birch trees.

Sam wetted his lips, taking in a deep, shaky breath. “L-l-leave me alone!” He shouted unsteadily, teeth chattering. He curled his arms around his torso instinctively. He shook his head, and everything seemed to go colder. Everything was numb. He felt detached. “Go away!”

The trees started shaking violently, a strong gust of wind blowing through them endlessly and almost knocking Sam over. The stars were gone, the moon nowhere in sight. The whole sky was just a textureless shade of black, no hopeful glint to give him the tiniest bit of relief. His lungs constricted, and he found himself hyperventilating, chest heaving.

Then, a deafening scream echoed through the clearing, from behind him. Sam whipped around, eyes widening at what met his frightened gaze. There, a good hundred feet away, was a gigantic humanoid creature, pulling itself toward him. It’s limbs were long and skinny, hands covered in an obscene amount of blood. It’s head was hairless, shiny like plastic and cocked at him in a questioning sort of way. It’s face was even worse, no sign of a nose, xs carved for eyes and a long chelsea smile on it’s lips, each dripping some kind of black liquid. The noise was resonating from it, the thunderous shrieking that caused Sam’s ears to bleed. He was frozen to the spot like a deer in headlights. The thing got closer and closer and closer, it’s true size becoming apparent to Sam. It’s arms were larger than any of the trees around him, and it’s face was about the size of a three story house. It smelled like burning human hair and rotten wood, and it seemed to be melting the snow underneath it.

Sam couldn’t even attempt to run as it’s monumental face hovered over him, arms held up over him. The large droplets of crimson splashed onto the snow beside him, soaking it through. He stared up at it, and he could feel it breathing. The crisp gusts of winds were coming from it.

It lowered it’s head to Sam’s level, chin digging into the Earth. Sam couldn’t look away, and was forced to make eye contact with it, if you’d even call it that. It’s breaths were cold but heavy, and they threatening to knock him off his feet.

He felt a twinge of free will start to return to him when the creature let out a long groaning sound, like a prolonged replication of wood stairs creaking. The force of the gust amplified tenfold, and this time Sam was thrown onto his back. It knocked the air out of his lungs, if that was even possible when he couldn’t breathe very well before.

“P-please.” Sam pleaded in between gulps of air, the cold biting feeling of snow eating through the small warmth his clothes had provided. “Leave me alone, leave me alone!” He screamed at the monstrous entity, eyes welling up with tears that threatened to spill. The creature got nearer, building-sized face too close for comfort. The black liquid that oozed out of it’s eyes and mouth dripped onto Sam’s front, the larger than life droplet covering him almost completely. He didn’t open his mouth again, fearing that he would ingest the obviously harmful fluid. He was crying now, tears falling out of his eyes and mixing with the liquid from the creature’s face.

The monster’s head cocked impossibly to the side, and the exaggerated sound of a neck snapping echoed into Sam’s ears. He shook his head, lips pressed together tightly. The being raised it’s red-stained hand, situated right over Sam’s small body. Then, with what sounded like an amused metal on metal scratching noise, the creature slammed it’s hand down, reducing Sam to a gruesome mush.

 

 

Sam awoke from his trance.

His eyes were open. They’d been open. Everything was too blurry to make out. Water was dripping sluggishly down his reddened face, soaking into the snow below. Someone - something - was cupping his face on both sides, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into his cheeks, brushing the tears away. His ears were ringing, and he could feel something wet trickling out of them, something hot flowing from his nose. He breathed in, the tangy scent of iron filling his nostrils.

“-wrong?” A voice drifted into Sam’s mutilated ears. A familiar one. That deep, smooth tone that he loved so much. But something was wrong with it - it was higher, wavering at the ends, cut off in places from what sounded like sobs.

_Distress._

Sam blinked rapidly, trying to expel the images from his encounter from his brain. He tried to stop crying, to ebb the flow of his tears, but it was hard. The only thing he could make out was a face hovering over him - not the.. the thing’s face. It had stormy blue eyes and soft brown hair. Sam’s heart fluttered. Colby. In distress.

“Sam - oh god, what’s wrong, _what’s wrong?_ ” The voice swept past his ear. “Come on, snap out of it, Sam _please_ -”

Sam sniffled, smelling blood before it ran back out again. Colby’s face, now much less blurry, changed from complete and utter devastation to slight relief, hope. The hands were moved from his face to his shoulders, running down his arm and back up.

“S-Sam, you alright? I mean, you’re not, but you’re..” He inhaled shakily, eyes scanning the shivering body of his best friend.

Sam leaned up out of the snow, pulling Colby into a tight embrace. He shoved his face into Colby’s shoulder, trying to muffle his sobs in the thick fabric. Sam breathed in and out, in and out, in and out, the comforting scent of apples and pine sap overpowering the irony tang.

Colby’s arms wrapped protectively around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him even closer. He was shaking violently, thin body wracked by sobs and chills, his senses were all out of whack, and he was seeing stuff that wasn’t real, but Colby’s soothing mutterings in his ear were as real as it could come.

Everything was blurry, undetailed, swinging left and right as he fought off sleep. It came in strong, his eyelids growing heavy, but something, or someone, told him to stay awake, so he did, blinking out the dark colored tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't really know where he was, other than somewhere very, very cold with a lot of snow. It fell into his shoes and bit at his ankles, winds that chilled you to the bone throwing around his hair. It was horrible, and everything seemed to burn, to ache, to scream, but there was one light in the darkness. The arm wrapped around him, holding him up, dragging him through the storm. Of course, he was just dead weight - he couldn't feel anything enough to move, legs dragging uselessly behind him. The only reason he was still alive was because of the person holding him. Holding him up.

Sam's ears were invaded by the sound of cars, and forced his eyes shut, wishing for it to go away. He just wanted to sleep, to be warm. He was too cold.

"Hey, hey," a voice seemed to come from nowhere, and he was stopped from drifting off, the grasp on his body tighter now. "Stay awake, okay? We're almost there."

He nodded, murmuring something about complying before they were going uphill. It was much harder for the person to haul his limp body at an elevation, but they continued, finally reaching flat, icy ground. He heard a car door open, and then he was lying on his back, inhaling the scent of apples and card stock paper, staring up at Colby's face again.

"I'm so cold, Colby," Sam murmured drunkenly, eyes barely opened, only staying there for the stormy blues across from him. He tried to sit up, to wrap his arms around his best friend so he wouldn't leave him again, but found his limbs useless, freezing, burning. Panic was driven into him. "I can't move, I can't move-!"

Colby's hands were back on his shoulders and, weirdly, it calmed him right down. He breathed heavily, their eyes locked in a glare, blue against blue. "You're going to be okay, Sam, I promise. I'll turn the heat on high, we'll be back at the hotel room in less than thirty minutes." He noted that he sounded equally as panicked as Sam, and a spike of worry was driven into his heart.

Colby pulled away, and Sam heard the back door shut, someone climbing into the driver's seat. The car started, and he could already sense the temperature changing. Hotter, but there was no spirit. He was safe, for now.

They pulled back onto the highway and Sam took this time to relax. The blood had stopped running from his nose and ears, and he didn't taste any more iron. He was fine, going to be fine, he was going to be okay like Colby said. He didn't have to be scared anymore. Colby was there.

That didn't stop the watery black tears from leaking from his eyes, dripping down his cheeks and onto the seat below.

\--

Colby didn't know what was going on, but he was intent on finding out.

Something had been going on with him, ever since the 13th of October when he'd found him half dead on the bathroom floor. He'd singled it down to a prank, it had to be, but the blood smelled like actual blood, and Sam talked like all the things he'd said were true. The little girl. At the time, he totally believed it was fake, Sam was just trying to make him believe in that spiritual stuff, totally not real 100%. But then, he realized Sam didn't make a video about his reaction like he would've any other time. There was no camera. Despite those odd happenings, he put it behind him quickly, as Sam seemed to regain his usual spunk quite quickly.

Then, came that stupid tunnel. Sam disappeared for seven hours, came back with no footage and a bruised face, and acted fine. Happy, even. Another prank that went a bit wrong, Colby and the guys had put it down to. They would've forgotten about it immediately if it wasn't for the constant reminder of the purples and blues painted across Sam's pallor.

He still remembered getting the messages, people freaking out over Sam's health, going to his room and catching the heart stopping peppering of pale blues and browns and blacks. Their conversation.

For a few weeks after that, everything was fine. Sam had healed and started to make videos again, people dismissed the attack theory, and it was all normal. But, of course, nothing could stay good for long. They arrived back at the Sunken City, ready to make a video that was bound to get tons of views, when Sam was at the edge of the cliff. He was acting insane - the whole situation was insane! - spouting nonsense about him not being able to see whatever was holding him there, a spirit. Then, his nose started to bleed. It all just reminded him of some horror movie, but in real life. He hadn't been able to make Sam move and inch from where he was standing, on the very edge, basically teetering on the last bit of stone at the end, unmoving except for the dramatic lurches forward. And he couldn't do anything about it.

Then, like someone had pressed play on a video, Sam fell forward. Colby would've fell too if Sam didn't slam their hands on the stone so hard it bruised. He remembered vividly how quick he fell, like a rag doll, disappearing into the black water below. How loud he screamed for him, how the guys had to pull him away from the edge.

They found him next to the car, collapsed onto the blacktop, a growing pool of blood around his pale body. They rushed him to the hospital, and long story short, he'd been stitched up and sent back home. Everyone decided to take turns watching Sam, to make sure he didn't die in the middle of the night, and it happened to be Colby's turn when Sam woke up. He was standing outside the door, and frightened, he slammed it shut. Then, Sam screamed at him. Threatened him, but he wasn't sure it had been directed at him.

Everything seemed to get slower after that. Sam was in a mood twenty four seven, always paranoid, stuck by Colby's side like a dog to it's owner. Despite how the others might've thought he felt about that, he actually wasn't too annoyed. It was good to spend quality time with Sam after all the stuff that had happened, maybe work him through his experiences. The problem was, he wouldn't talk about what happened. Whenever Colby had tried to bring it up, Sam changed the subject of the conversation completely, not even trying to be discreet. They never spoke about it, except for small, awkward exchanges that probably weakened their relationship considerably.

Now, though, Colby had to know. He couldn't wait any longer. Sam had an episode - he couldn't call it anything else. Something was wrong with him. He had to have some kind of mental disorder that was messing with his brain, muddling with his sanity. He didn't know how to help him, either, which made him feel so incredibly guilty even though it technically wasn't his fault. None of it had anything to do with him, did it? He hoped not.

"Hey, Sam, you okay?" He asked tentatively, looking in the rear view mirror quick before turning back to the rode. Sam hadn't moved an inch since he put him in the back seat.

"No, I'm not," Came Sam's soft voice, terribly tiny and quiet. "Everything hurts." He admitted after a pause.

"Why, why does it hurt?" He responded quickly. "What happened?"

Another pause, the silence only disturbed by the humming of the cars passing by. "Nothing." Sam answered even quieter than before, and Colby tightened his grip on the wheel. Of course, he wasn't going to say anything. He never did. No matter how much Colby expressed his concern.

"Stop this, please," He whispered back to the blonde, trying to maintain a calm, collected voice, but it was hard. "I just want to know what's wrong. Whatever just happened wasn't normal, Sam. I know this is hard, but I think there's something wrong with your head. Like, mental. Whatever's going on might get worse, and that can't happen. You have to tell me." He pleaded, resisting the urge to look back at him.

Colby was getting sick of these pauses. Granted, it might've taken awhile for Sam to get his words in check. He had just had some kind of episode. But, after what felt like hours, his voice finally echoed back into Colby's ears. "Nothing's wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with my head." He murmured smoothly. "You wouldn't understand."

"Hell if I'd understand!" Colby shouted, regretting his decision to yell the moment after he did it, but continued anyways. "I don't care if I won't get any of it. Just tell me, Sam. We talked about this. Best friends, remember? We tell each other everything."

Unusual. This time, Sam started right up. "Fine. I can see people - uh, dead people to be exact. I've been able to see them since Friday the 13th." He swallowed thickly. "They hate me for some reason. I think it's 'cause I messed with them a lot over the years."

Colby didn't believe it. "Then what was that?" He asked, referencing the earlier scene in the woods.

"I don't know, actually. An amalgamation of horror, maybe. Like someone put all my worst fears together. It was the size of a skyscraper, I swear, with stitched up eyes and pale skin, and it-.. well, it killed me." He was quiet for a moment. "Then I was conscious again. You were there, you get the point. Whatever died in those woods, oh boy, you should be glad it's physically here anymore."

Colby sped up, probably illegally so, but he didn't see any police cars in sight. "Are you being serious?" He asked, maintaining his composure. "Like, really serious? All this actually happened? The stuff at Sunken City, the tunnel, the little girl?"

Sam scoffed. "Yes! I've been saying it this whole time! You just don't listen to me." He retaliated, and Colby heard something moving in the back. He turned, seeing Sam slowly and carefully getting into a seated position. So, he could move now. "At first I thought I was crazy, but then it started effecting me in real life. The little girl, I dunno, dream stabbed me in the stomach? Almost killed me? I'm not sure on the details of her, but she lives in my room. Watches me when I sleep sometimes. It's a whole thing. And, at the tunnel, I literally tripped. That was it until some ghost dude beat me with his boot. I don't even remember being gone seven hours, it was more like fifteen minutes. I was fine. Oh, and Sunken City? Well, hate to break it to you Colby, but there's some weird malevolent spirit there murdering innocent people. The only reason I'm alive is that this other ghost girl woke me up when I washed up on the beach. It was her, the girl who supposedly committed suicide. She had been killed, too. By the same thing that attempted to kill me.

"I really don't know how to explain it to you, Colby, but this is all true. I wouldn't lie about it. I-"

Then, Sam started coughing. Nothing like when this all started. He probably just choked on air.

Colby pulled into the parking lot of the hotel they were staying at, quiet as can be. He didn't know how to feel. Was Sam telling the truth, or had he really gone crazy? It was all so hard to comprehend. Was Colby going crazy? He parked the car, ready to help his best friend to their room, but stopped when he noticed Sam staring at him. The smears down his face, looking like black paint, shone in the light of the car.

"I would never lie to you."


	5. "Friends"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where I stopped writing summaries.

Colby could hear Sam puking from the hallway. Coughing, then retching, then what sounded kind of like muffled crying. It broke his heart in every way, but he couldn't and wouldn't do anything about it - he didn't know or understand what was going on at all and he didn't have a say in anything that pertained to their situation, so he gave Sam his privacy, sitting with his head in his hands, unmoving. Waiting for his best friend to come out of the bathroom, talk to him, tell him the truth. After all, Sam said he would never lie to him, and he hoped the statement was true.

"Colby?" His name echoed tenatively from the door near the bathroom, so he looked up, meeting Sam's red-rimmed eyes. "Is it cold in here to you? Like cold, but uh, humid I guess?" Colby noticed the shaking of Sam's hands hanging uselessly by his side, and how sweat beads formed on the side of his head, dripping down and smudging the red markings decorating his face. Was he sick? As if to confirm his assumption, Sam sniffled, and not the whole crying kind. He could tell.

"You're sick, Sam," Colby stated simply, standing up from the bed. He walked over to the blonde, Sam's bright pastel blue eyes widening as he approached. Then, he brought a hand to his forehead, and Sam flinched - flinched! - taking a step back, breath hitching.

"You're just, um," Sam murmured quietly, "very, uh, warm." His voice was adopting a slightly snuffly, nasally tone. Definitely sick then. "You're hand kinda shocked me, ha. God. It's so cold, isn't it?"

From what Colby had felt in that fleeting moment, Sam was on fire, full on radiating heat. It didn't make sense how he could be cold. His temperature was probably over one hundred! He pursed his lips, and with a sigh, he placed his hand on Sam's shoulder to lead him to the bed. To rest, ya know? But, something unexpected happened - Sam leaned into his touch, practically collapsing in his arms.

"Hey, hey, Sam!" Colby barely managed to save him from a painful fate on the floor, grabbing him from under the arms. Sam's limp head lolled back, eyes closed, cheeks red with blood splatters to match. The whole thing was just unnecessarily gruesome. Colby's heart beat started to pick up in speed as he received no response from his efforts, tapping Sam on the face and shaking him. Nothing happened. He led him to the bed, quickly but gently lying his shaking, feverish body onto the blankets. Despite how he looked, he was breathing fine, chest steadily rising and falling at intervals of three seconds. It would've been peaceful if the red stains from Sam's nose and ears were gone - he'd have to clean those later.

Colby sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He must've simply fainted from exhaustion, strain or some other small ailment. It made sense, of course, if Sam was telling the truth, he'd been through a whole lot in a short span of time.

He was about to stand up when his gaze tilted to the side, and he spotted Sam's hand, the small scars from what he assumed was the cliff fall stark even against his pale skin. His fingers were enclosed in a fist, tensing and untensing unnaturally.

Like it was some sort of natural instinct, Colby slid his own hand forward, barely even breathing or blinking or doing anything as he managed to unfurl the blonde's fingers, sliding his own in and wringing them together. He stared at their hands with a tricky emotion he couldn't even comprehend. Sam didn't show any signs of noticing what he'd done, other than the tensing of his fingers he had shown before, but now only resulting in a reassuring squeeze every now and then.

Colby swallowed, and as quick as he did it, he pulled his hand back at his side, putting that at the back of his mind and standing up to find a rag.

\--

With a gasp, Sam awoke from his sleep, flying up into a sitting position. Water dripped slowly down his head, from his ears and nose, but he didn't smell blood. In fact, he smelt.. soap. Hotel soap.

That's the first thing he sensed, but the second? Oh, the second. The second thing he felt was someone's fingers laced in his, a warm, steady but loose grip.

"Sam! You're awake." The hand was pulled away. Sam looked to the side, where Colby sat with a red stained rag, blushing profusely and doing a horrible job at hiding it. Sam stared in disbelief. How? Why? Did he actually just do that, or was it all a dream?

"I was uh, checking your pulse." Colby blatantly lied, flashing him a dazzling smile that would've made Sam mentally swoon if the situation wasn't so wrong. "I read somewhere that if someone's pulse is erratic and they're sleeping, it's bad."

Sam saw right through it, but didn't say anything. He was still wondered why in the world Colby would hold his hand. Concern? Tension? Another synonym for worry?

"Yeah," Sam responded, voice dull. "Pulse. Yeah."

"Yeah," Colby mirrored, grabbing the rag and standing up, tossing it in the trash to depose of it. "So, are you feeling fine?" He asked, back turned to Sam, hands fiddling with something in front of him. Sam narrowed his eyes, pulling the blankets up to his chin. Something was going on.

"Better than I was," Sam said truthfully, clearing his throat. It didn't help how hoarse he sounded. "And uh, I'm sorry for, like, falling on you? That's all I really remembered. It being so cold, and then I was falling, and then your arms, uh," He shook his head. What a stupid thing to say.

"Yeah." The third yeah in a row. Not a good sign. "You should sleep more. You've been through a lot, and if what you're saying is true, even more than I know. You deserve rest."

Telling the truth? _Telling the truth?_ Of course he was telling the truth! "I told you I wouldn't lie to you!" Sam retaliated, raising his voice. "I will never lie to you again, okay? I'm telling the truth from here on out. I can see ghosts, no matter how stupid it sounds. They hate me. We've got one living in our house. It's all true." He spat.

Colby, with his back still turned to Sam, shook his head after a much too lengthy pause. "Yeah, whatever. I'm-- I'm gonna go. Sleep. I'll be back in about an hour, okay?" He turned to move past the door, and for one second, Sam swore he could see Colby's eyes watering. Not good.

"Hey!" He moved to get out of bed, to follow the brunette, but was rudely shut off by a loud "Bye!" and the slamming of a door. God, he didn't even put his shoes or coat on, just grabbed them. He really wanted to get away, then. Would do anything to be away from Sam.

"Fuck." Sam shook his head, letting out a long line of whispered curses, hiding his face in his hands. "Jesus christ, what have I done? I've fucked everything up!" He balled his hands into fists, contemplating hitting _something_ but ultimately deciding against that impulse. He didn't know what was wrong with Colby. Hell, Sam didn't even know his own problem! Why _could_ he see ghosts? There was no reason to why he was gifted, or cursed. Was he actually crazy, was all this in his head? This mental trauma was ruining his sanity even if he wasn't crazy. With all the feelings he'd been having, unable to act on them, it left him enclosed in a corner, no where to go. Colby didn't believe him. Colby would never believe him. If he told him the truth, the actual truth, admitted some stuff that he'd rather have go unsaid, Colby would leave at the blink of an eye, just like he did. He probably wouldn't even say bye, or close the door. Just leave it hanging open for Sam to watch him leave, never to come back. He'd leave. There was no reason to stay, after all.

 

 

It took three hours for Colby to return. When he did, Sam was up, coughing up whatever he was in the bathroom. It sounded painful, and Colby heard crying in between retches, crying that he knew to belong to his best friend. When he was gone, he'd bought sleep medicine and some non-prescribed pain meds, after that, he sat in his car or drove and thought. He passed like seven bars just on his path. Wisconsin had a fuckton of bars.

He set the plastic bag on the rack near the door, moving over to the bathroom. He knocked on the wood once, twice, and two more times quickly, shedding his jacket and placing it over the bag. "Sam?" He called tentatively. "Are you okay?" It took a few seconds for the door to unlock and swing open. There stood Sam, hair a mess, eyes teary, a smudged line of crimson dripping down his chin. Colby's heart sped up, and he had flashbacks to where everything started, back in their bathroom, all the blood. "Woah-"

"I'm fine." Sam forced out, eyes narrowed. He pushed past Colby, arms crossed as he headed for the bed. Yeah, he was angry then. Probably really angry. Colby peeked into the bathroom, seeing the sink stained a light red, right as Sam finished what he was saying. "Not like you'd care."

Colby gasped dramatically. "Me, caring?" He said, feigning astonishment, making his way to the main room. "Definitely not! Only crazy people care." He met Sam's gaze and tried to retain his playful attitude, hard when you saw your best friend since middle school crumbling right in front of your eyes. When the point didn't seem to get across, Colby sighed. "I care, Sam." He added seriously. "I care about you. A lot. Probably too much, actually, I care an unhealthy amount about you." He smiled, and Sam untensed at the sight, turning his head away just as Colby noticed something shining from the baby blues. He swallowed, blinking, before continuing, running to grab the bag and returning to Sam's side. "See?" He set the bag on the nightstand. "Stuff to help you."

Sam surveyed the items, and Colby could just barely see his lips turn up in a warm smile. He grabbed out the sleeping pills, reading the label and skimming the details on the back before uncapping the bottle. He placed two of the small, white pills in his hands, before screwing the lid back on and handed it to Colby. He wordlessly set it on the desk.

"I'm gonna sleep, then." Sam said warily, pulling the blanket over his legs."I hope these work. I'm too tired for my own good."

Colby sighed. "Okay," He responded, sitting on the side of the other bed. "You do that. We have a plane flight tomorrow, so I'll uh, set an alarm." He pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking and opening it, going to the clock app. He set it for five am, when he'd wake up, and he'd get Sam up at six. He turned back to Sam, ready to get him water for the pills, when-

He was already sleeping, the flat white orbs still sitting in his palm.

\--

Sam's dreams were pleasant. The details were hard to focus on, though, and it was hard to keep track of what was happening, but he knew he was dreaming as if he never saw the little girl on Friday the 13th, and his life remained relatively normal. He didn't have to be paranoid every time he went someplace, and he had fun, getting into stupid situations with his roommates hanging out and going places without an ache from his ribs or any bright, purple and black bruises thrown across his face or chest. But, all good things come to an end, as did his good dreams.

The only he remembered vividly was being outside in an empty field surrounded by trees. There was no snow, and the sun was shining bright, birds were signing, and fluffy white clouds drifted across the sky. It was a nice place, perfectly peaceful until he heard it.

It was the sound he'd heard before, like nails on a chalkboard, like metal squealing and wood creaking. Amplified by 100%, ear-splittingly loud and prolonged. His feet were rooted to the grass, and he could not do anything as he saw it emerge from the other side of the field, large house sized head peeking out, black liquid that appeared to be either it's blood or drool dripping from it's mouth and eyes, staining the grass underneath it. Its jagged white teeth shone in the expanse of it's inky smirk. Slowly, it pulled its large body out of the trees, hand covered in dark human blood gripping at the earth, pulling up the land in its grasp.

Sam stared, watching. He wasn't afraid, no, not yet. Just.. indifferent. Confused, maybe. He didn't know how to feel, what to think. He just really, really wanted to wake up.

He barely even blinked or breathed as it came toward him, making high chittering noises, things he could've sworn he heard when he was a child. it got smaller and smaller the closer it came. As it arrived at his feet, it was about the size of of an adult human, making those horrendous noises as it's red stained hands clawed at his shoes. It's body was cut off at the waist, leaving a mucky trail of it's own black blood. It's presence was cold, so that meant it couldn't mean any harm, right? If so, what was up with their first encounter? What did it want?

He probably would never find out, because once the thing slid it's long fingers up his pantleg, he woke up. And what a thing to wake up to.

Someone was kissing him. Literally. Kissing him, their lips on his. It was a very surprising and shocking change of pace, of mood. His heart flew into his throat, and pushing down the feeling to vomit, he returned the gesture, eyes closed as he sat up, hands on the side of the person's face. Whoever it was. He was so terribly touch-starved, void of romantic actions, he just couldn't help himself. Before he knew it, the other person's hands were around his shoulders. But, a few moments later, the cold realization that the only other person in the room was Colby, so..

Sam opened his eyes, pulling away.

"Woah," he breathed, voice wavering, "Wow. God. Jesus, Colby." Why'd he do that? What caused it? Sam was freaking out, blue eyes wide with fear, confusion, panic. He was too happy, and it felt so good, right, but he couldn't feel that way. Colby was straight. Very heterosexual. He always liked girls, maybe a little too much. He never ever showed interest in guys whatsoever. Sam did, he knew, he remembered vividly staring at a boy when he was in high school, and not realizing what it meant. But Colby? No. The attraction with them was one sided. It had to be.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," Colby blurted, voice high. "I don't know why I did that? Oh god.." Sam stared at him, and saw how furiously he was blushing. He expected he looked the same, from the heat he felt on his face.

He stared, dumbfounded. He didn't know what to say. Colby was still spouting nonsense apologies, but Sam didn't want to be apologized to. On the other hand, he wated to be the one thanking Colby. That was undoubtedly the best thing that ever happened to him. He found himself staring at Colby, still sputtering sorry all over, icy blue eyes narrowed, face red. Sam couldn't help himself; his affection for his best friend was too much, overpowering his own wills. It made his chest ache, and it seemed to physically hurt. He wanted it to stop, this needless pining was killing him. He needed to be rejected.

"Colby.." Sam started, "It's fine. Don't worry about it. It was.." he sighed, holding his face in his hands for a few seconds, heart beating fast. He was nervous. Was he really going to tell him? Sam stood, and without gaining Colby's attention, he walked over, seeing his friend still freaking out.

"What? I thought you were s-sleeping, I didn't know-"

Sam pulled him into a kiss. It was sweet, small, and short. Just what he liked, after all. Colby was tense under his hand, and when Sam stopped, he was quiet. Cliche, but kissing was a really good way to shut people up.

"Wow, I regret doing that." he said sarcastically. Colby kissed him before, so that must've meant he felt the same way, right? Sam leaned in once more, smiling widely. "That too. Totally an accident, so sorry." Playful sarcasm dripped from his tone, and he didn't want to get it out. This was.. this was fun.

"Wait, really?" Colby voice entered his ears, and Sam looked into his eyes, wide and fearful. He nodded.

"Yeah, really. Felt this way for awhile." He admitted quietly, smirk widening. "Happy you're into it too."

Colby smiled for a moment, but then it disappeared, and he backed up. "Wow," he mouthed. "This is gonna get a lot of press. People have been saying this for years, Sam, how are we supposed to break it to them? That you.. that I.." His hands were shaking, and he was pacing back and forth in front of the beds. "I can't, we can't.."

Sam sighed, eyes wide. "How about we don't?" He suggested tentatively. "How about we just don't say anything, to anyone, huh? Just keep quiet?" He walked up behind Colby, placing a hand on his shoulder to end his worrying. "Like, not even the guys? Just keep it private, you know."

Colby nodded quickly, turning back to face Sam. "Yeah, yeah! It's not their business anyways, right? We deserve, uh, privacy!"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, face lighting up for the first time in what seemed like months. "It's our business, our secret. Everything will be- it'll be good. It is good." Their eyes met again, and Sam forgot everything that had plagued him. The little girl in his bedroom, the lady at Sunken City, the blood, the bruises, the pain and the tears. It all seemed to wash away like it never happened. This was great. This was everything he'd ever wanted. Screw those dreams, he was happier with the outcome he had now.


	6. Eleven Minutes

"What the crap," Sam whispered, turning the key. Once, twice, three times. The engine didn't even make an effort to start - it wasn't stalling, either. There was literally no noise. The car was on, but the battery seemed to be failing him. His eyes were wide, and he tried it again fruitlessly. "What the fuck," His catchphrase had now upgraded, and he knew he would have to bleep that out.

"Well," Sam paused, leaning back, heart racing in his chest. "The car won't start. That's great. Just wonderful." He glanced at the camera, sitting in the passenger seat, angled toward him. Swallowing, he reached for the key, twisting it for the fifth time. Like all the other times, it didn't start. He swore under his breath again, but probably not loud enough to be caught on camera.

Sam fished his phone out of his pocket, nervously looking through all the windows in fear of seeing something. "I'm just going to call someone for a second, see you when it's done." He blinked, shutting it off, knowing very well that if anyone saw the footage of him calling Colby it might've alerted someone to their status as "friends".

"Sam, where are you?" Colby's voice came from the other end of the line, concerned. "Aaron said you were doing one of those challenges again. You said you would stop doing those." It felt like a scolding, but Sam couldn't help but smile. "I know what happens when you do those. You get hurt."

Sam nodded to himself. "Yeah, I know," He responded, trying to hide the paranoia in his voice. "But people wanted it, and this challenge is pretty tame. Nothing very spiritual about it, and I haven't see anything yet."

Colby scoffed. "Yet," He mocked. "So, where are you?"

"Uh," Sam swallowed, looking up, dissecting the darkness for any signs to indicate where exactly he was. There was none. "I don't know?" He said cautiously, sensing what would happen next.

"What? You don't know?" He was in utter disbelief, voice high. He was angry. Just as Sam expected. "You have no idea where you're at?"

"Well," Sam started, "I started out eleven miles back, near where I'm sure Aaron told you. I'm okay."

"Are you on your way home?"

Sam inhaled sharply. "Well, no.."

"What?"

Sam bit his lip. "..my car won't start, and all my lights are going out."

"Sam!"

"I know, I know, it sounds bad, but I'm perfectly fine. Nothing has happened other than that." Sam responded truthfully. "I was wondering if you'd come pick me up."

"Jesus fucking christ, Sam.." Colby sighed. "Yeah, of course I'll come get you. Just don't go anywhere, and don't get hurt, okay? I'll be there in.. well, I guess an hour and a half. It'll be awhile, so stay put!" Then, Colby hung up.

\--

It was hard not to freak out, surrounded by nothingness, thousands of trees and raccoons. He'd seen three of them in the hour he'd been sitting there, trying to distract himself from the situation with music. Yeah, the radio still worked, which was a plus, but he'd tried the car again and it still wouldn't turn on. so he couldn't do anything but sit there.

Colby had texted him frequently, probably not safe when he was driving, asking if he was okay, and constantly reasurring him that he'd be there soon. It warmed Sam's heart, but it could only make him feel good for a small amount of time. He was still in the middle of nowhere.

Sam's eyelids were starting to droop when he felt something touch his shoulder from the backseat.

He shouted in fear, turning around to meet the face of something he'd never forget. It was pale, face unnerving like a moving mask, three holes decorating the smooth white surface. A mouth and two eyes, all the same size, empty and almost taking up the entire space of it's head. A loud whine echoed from it's mouth hole as Sam went to jump out of the car and run, but the door wouldn't unlock. The temperature of the vehicle started to rise, and Sam blanked as the thing started crawling over the seat towards him.

With about as much elegance as he could muster, Sam knocked the thing back into the passenger seat, where it's semi-transparent body phased right through the camera sitting there. Sam scrambled to jump in the back, blue eyes wide at this small stupid game of cat and mouse. The thing started to climb toward him, apparently unfazed by his attacks.

It lunged forward with another sorrowful yowl and wrapped it's elastic arms around Sam's body. Pushed against the seat, Sam coughed as it tightened it's grip, pulling tighter and tighter until Sam couldn't breathe at all. He finally heard and felt two sickening cracks before he mustered the courage to elbow the thing in it's chin with all the might he possessed, and it flew backwards, phasing out of the car completely.

Sam wheezed, hands on his chest. He coughed, climbing back into the front seat, throwing open the now unlocked door and booking it back down the road.

Moving like sent throbs of pain into his chest, and he felt like curling in on himself, but he couldn't. "Fuck, fuck, I'm so fucking stupid!" He screamed at himself, feet pounding against the blacktop. He should've never did another one of those challenges. Colby's right- "tame" challenge my ass. These only cause me harm!

He glanced back, and for one heart-stopping moment, he saw it - the creature running at full speed toward him, arms and legs a blur, staring straight ahead at him with that soulless glare. Sam's heart lept into his throat and he surpressed a scream, newfound fear driving him to run faster, faster, faster. He wouldn't let it get him, even if he had to run eleven miles with two broken ribs. He was stronger than that. He felt like throwing up, but he kept on, years of sprinting throughout abandoned places and running from the workers there the only reason he was even still alive right then.

He looked behind him for one second, and jumped at how close the creature was, feet skidding on the blacktop. His ankle twisted to the side and he cried out, his body slamming against the ground, sliding down a few feet before coming to a complete stop.

The creature was over him, crawling onto him. He couldn't move, couldn't think. He thrashed, but the thing seemed to have an incredible weight, crushing his chest even more than it was before. He hit the beast, over and over, but it barely even flinched. Unfazed, it wrapped it's arms back around him, mouth hole widening as it finally leaned down and swallowed Sam's consciousness.

\-- 

Colby was speeding. Way over the limit, and his phone sat in his lap, several text messages to Sam on the screen, unread. No replies for the last twenty minutes. His heart was racing as he made his way down the winding road, hands shaking as his brain went through all the things that could've happened.

He was ten miles down the eleven mile road when he literally almost ran over Sam.

His car came to a stop, tires screeching. His headlights illuminated a horrific scene - there Sam lay, lifeless, blood splattered down his front and decorating the road around him. Something was on top of him, a pale, humanoid figure with long arms. It's face was connected to Sam's, and like some kind of oversized leech, it seemed to be sucking, blood leaking down Sam's cheeks from where it seemed to have a hold. When it noticed Colby, however, it slowly removed it's mouth from him, thousands of needle sized teeth popping out of Sam's skin, retreating back into it's empty, vast crater of a mouth, making unbreakable eye contact with him. It's lifeless holes for eyes made Colby freeze in his seat, horror making it impossible to move. Blood - Sam's blood - dripped down it's sullen face, and it cocked it's head slowly, it's existence beginning to fluncuate before it jumped off Sam and disappeared from Colby's sight.

It took a good couple moments before Colby regained the ability to move - he jumped out of the car, leaving it running in the middle of the street, rushing over to Sam. Collapsed in the middle of nowhere. His face was pale and covered in blood, and his eyes were shut. Colby looked down at Sam's chest, and was relieved when he saw that it was in fact rising and falling, slowly, but he was breathing. He was alive.

"Sam.." Colby murmured, eyes wide as he pulled the other into a sitting position, leaning on him. As if on cue, the blonde woke with a pained gasp, blue eyes flying open, frantic and wild. He jumped out of Colby's grasp, somehow managing to manuver his body in the seconds he had been awake to kick him square across the face and send him sprawling across the black top.

"Oh fuck, sorry." Came Sam's voice as Colby sat up, meeting Sam's gaze. "Jeez. I did not know that was you. I apologize." Colby watched with disbelief as Sam, the one who had just been drained of blood by some kind of paranormal humanoid lamprey, smiled at him, barely showing any signs of pain at all. He was standing tall, posture straight, not favoring any limbs. But, on the other hand, he was also breathing heavily, and Colby could see something in those ocean blue irises that wasn't supposed to be there.

"Oh, shut up, it's fine," Colby said, standing, rubbing his chin where Sam's foot had hit him. "What was that back there?"

"What was what?" Sam asked, before realising what the question meant. "Uh, I dunno. It's not like I could see anything. You know, I was unconscious. The thing, I dunno what it was really, some disfigured malevolent spirit maybe? What was it doing?"

Colby bit his lip. Oh boy, this was going to be hard to voice. "It uh, it was, uh.." He brought a hand up to his face, motioning toward where the wounds would be if it had been on him. A line down his cheekbone, and around under his chin. "Ya know. Uh."

Sam touched his face, and seemed utterly aghast at the realization it was bleeding, and what it must've been doing to him. He breathed in quickly, eyes widening as he made a pouty face at Colby. "What? It was- oh jesus christ, that's fucking digusting.." He lifted up his sweatshirt, pulling up his shirt in the process and exposing his midrift as he wiped the blood off his face. "Fuck, man. Why? Why was it doing that?" He threw his hands up into the air, and Colby could just catch a grimace settling on his face before he turned around, walking, pacing. "Anything else than that, jesus, why.."

Colby inhaled sharply. "Sam, what's wrong?" He asked, voice soft. "Why're you- you're.. ugh. Just tell me, already, Sam. You said you wouldn't lie anymore."

Sam sighed deeply, before turning around, pivoting on one foot. "I think I uh, broke a couple more ribs? It hurts to breathe, but.. aren't I'm good at hiding it?"

"Oh jesus, again?" Colby muttered, rubbing the bride of his nose. "Fuck, Sam. Is it bad?"

Sam shrugged, biting his lip. "Nah. Just.. a little worse than I'm used to. I was basically, uh, being hugged to death back there." He put a hand up to his chest, flinching at his own touch and he frowned, biting his lip hard enough to bleed. "Oh jeez.." He murmured. "It's pretty bad, actually, haha.."

He shook his head, walked forward and grabbing Sam's hand from where it was positioned over his heart, pulling the older male back toward the car. Sam made no attempt to stop him as he ushered him into the passenger seat, groaning with faux annoyance as he jumped in the driver's and slammed his door shut. "Lay down," He commanded, taking a cool glance at his boyfriend as Sam obeyed his demands, leaning against the car door, staring upward. It seemed to be lightening, the sun rising up in the far distance, taking the sky's deep navy blue and mixing it with a soft shade of orange as the morning came. A smile settled on his lips, and Sam closed his eyes, muscles untensing as he allowed his body to relax.

\-- 

"Okay, now, what did we learn?" Colby asked Sam, like he was a child, arms crossed like an angry parent.

"Colby," Sam started, "I'm not gonna do those again, okay? Promise. I've definitely learned my lesson." He absentmindedly rubbed at the markings on his face, the small dotted wounds in a circle, crossing the bridge of his nose and passing under his chin. He hoped it would heal fast. "Can I just go to bed?" He yawned, just for extra effect.

Colby sighed. "Okay, yeah. Just one more thing-" He stepped forward, arms over Sam's shoulders as he pulled his hood over his head, faces close. Intimate. The shadows from the hood concealed the odd looking injury well, maybe just appearing to be a trick of the light at certain angle, but it'd be hard to tell if it really was anything. "Yes, that should work. In case anyone is up, we'll be free of questions." His eyes darted to the front of Sam's hoodie, and he bit his lip, before shaking his head. "No, it's fine. It's red, and red matches red. No-one'll notice." He grabbed Sam by his wrist and once again he was being led. Through their parking lot, then to the front door. Colby inserted his key and pushed it open, and then let go, walking forward into their dark home.

No one was there, they were all in bed or someplace else. Good, Colby had said, a smile on his face as he made his way up the stairs. Sam followed, trying to breathe shallowly as to not upset the fractures, breaks, or whatever was going on in his chest. They made it to the hallway where the two doors split off, but instead of entering his own room, Colby went in Sam's.

"What-" He started, following the brunette, who turned around the swirled around Sam to shut and lock the door behind him once he was far enough in the room. "Why are you in here?" Sam asked, whispering.

Without speaking, Colby closed the space between them, sliding his hands under Sam's sweatshirt and shirt and began pulling it up.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Sam wasn't into that, and especially not now, with his chest screaming at him and face a mess. He would not do that with anyone, Colby included. Never ever, no matter how much he begged. It just wasn't a thing Sam liked to do.

Before he could tell him to stop, His sweatshirt and shirt were thrown on the floor, and he was about to back up and maybe even run away when Colby's eyes narrowed. He wasn't reaching to undress Sam any farther, no. Just staring.

Sam looked down, and noticed the deep purple, black, and green that was thrown across his ribs, the uneven surface much too hot and inflamed. Sam swallowed, looking back up at Colby. Apparently, the intention of taking off his shirt was not what Sam assumed; the action was only done to see the damage of that night.

"Jesus," Colby breathed. "Doesn't that- doesn't that hurt?"

Sam blinked, dumbfounded, unable to speak. He was at a loss for words. "Yes," He replied simply when he found his voice again, nodding. "It does. A lot. I'm just, uh, used to it I guess, and like I said before- I'm good at hiding this kind of stuff."

"Well you shouldn't hide it!" Colby whisper-shouted, backing up a step. "You should tell me whenever something like this happens-"

"I know," Sam butted in. "That was part of the deal too. No lying."

Colby nodded, agreeing with the statement. "I don't like seeing you hurt." He spoke softly, quiet, the voice he adapted whenever he truly was speaking from the heart. "It's unnatural." He pointed to the bruise. "That's unnatural. It shouldn't be on your body, you don't deserve it, Sam. You've never deserved it."

Sam smiled warmly. It felt so good that someone truly cared without being totally overbearing, or fussy. He hated that. "Thanks for the concern," Sam responded, unable to keep the playful sarcasm that everyone knew him for out of his voice. "I appreciate it. I really do, but you shouldn't worry yourself with me." He sighed, feeling so warm and fuzzy. He sat on the edge of the bed, the far side, and dully heard Colby sitting opposite him, mirroring him. After a moment of silence, Sam heard shuffling, and felt the bed shift under the weight of an entire body. Colby was laying down.

"C'mere."

Sam turned his head, spotting Colby with his hands under his head laying on his bed. He scowled. "What?"

"I said: come here."

Begrudgingly Sam scooted over to to where Colby was, sitting near his upper torso, hands holding his head up by the chin. He refused to look at Colby directly, who's stupid dazzling smile he could see right in his peripheral vision.

" _Saaam._ " Colby drawled, drawing his name out like so many spirits had done before. "Lay by me, come on. We're supposed to be dating, isn't this dating?"

Tingles ran through Sam's body, and he knew his smile was just as stupid as Colby's. "Fine," He pushed out, trying to keep the affectionate amusement out of his voice, but it didn't work at all. "I'll play your game." He slowly straightened himself out until he was paralell Colby, their shoulders touching. Colby slipped off his shirt, throwing it in the general direction of the closet before he turned, and then they were pushed against each other. Intimate. So very intimate.

Sam loved it.

He heard Colby sigh and close his eyes, and Sam felt like exploding from just how very right all this felt. There was a little sense of wrong, probably from the years of internalized homophobia, but the right trumped it, definitely. He started to move positions and Colby seemed to sense what was going on - then, Sam's head was on Colby's chest, hearing his young, steady heartbeat as it echoed in his ears. The younger's warm arms were draped over his skinny shoulders, Colby's hand resting on his bruise. He felt the happiest he'd ever been in his entire twenty-one years of life, and he thought it couldn't get any better, but, unexpectedly, it did, with just a few words.

"I love you."

Sam closed his eyes. "I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end.


End file.
